Scaramouche was from Inazuma, a distant, silent, traditional place… a world completely different from Fontaine. Everything there was strange to him: the expressions, the slang, the culture, even the way of greeting someone seemed too confusing. Even so, there he was. In Fontaine. Studying at the university. Pretending to understand everything when, in reality, he understood nothing.

That's why Neuvillette, after realizing how many times Scaramouche argued with professors for "unintentional disrespect," decided that you would be his tutor. Scaramouche didn't like it, but he didn't complain.

He wouldn't admit it, but you were the first person there who didn't treat him as if he were always ready to explode.

Now, you were sitting side by side on the cliff behind the university, watching the sunset tint the sea a soft orange. The waves crashed against the rocks below, the sound echoing like an ancient sigh. Scaramouche rested his arms on his knees, his dark purple hair tousled by the wind, his gaze distant.

He broke the silence first.

“You don’t need to do this.” His voice came out low, almost irritated, but not with you.

It was the kind of irritation he had with himself. Scaramouche kept his eyes fixed on the horizon, as if the sun held the answer he couldn’t find.

“Stay with me. Explain these… stupid things.”

He made a vague gesture with his hand. “These strange slang terms. This noisy way you all live.”

The tide rose harder, crashing against the rocks.

“I’m not a project,” he murmured, clutching his clothes as if trying to hold himself up. “And I’m not someone easy to understand either. You don’t need to waste your time.”